


Beautiful Things

by The13thBlackCat



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13thBlackCat/pseuds/The13thBlackCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran has a weakness for beautiful things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Things

   Aetir sighed softly through his nose as he made his way to his quarters in Vigil's Keep, running a hand through his hair. It was a late night, and would likely prove to be later still. An arl's work was never done, and neither was a warden-commander's...and Aetir had the unlucky chance of being both.

   He went to the window first, opening it and taking in a lungful of the cool night air. It helped wake him up some, and he just stood there for a moment, leaning on the windowsill and looking out on the fields around the Vigil. It smelled like it might rain soon, and the air felt electric; Aetir smiled a little at that, pushing away finally.

   He had only just turned his back to the window when he heard a rustle of movement and felt the blade at his throat.

   The elf went tense, but before he could react, the blade's owner clicked his tongue by his ear. "You're prettier than I expected, for a Grey Warden commander. A pity someone wants you dead."

   Aetir's breath caught, and he tensed to move, magic crackling under his skin, but the assassin's blade bit down against his neck. Blood welled to the tiny wound, trickling down his throat, and he swallowed before answering, "If you know _who_ I am, you should know _what_ I am."

   "Hmm, must I?" The assassin's lips brushed his earlobe this time, sending a shiver down his spine. Under other circumstances, it could have been erotic. "You are a Warden, clearly. Beyond that...does it matter?" Aetir cast his eyes downwards when he felt the assassin's foot nudge against his own, forcing his legs apart.

   He didn't answer, letting the magic in him loose, exploding outward in a mind blast that made the assassin withdraw his blade and stagger backwards. Aetir shoved himself forward, darting away a few steps before whirling to face his would-be murderer.

   He was an elf himself, shorter than Aetir, with dark skin and pale hair, and dressed in clothing that was foreign but recognizable: Antivan. If they had met differently, Aetir would have been tempted to call him _beautiful_.

   He shook his head slightly, bracing himself against the wall, as electricity crackled down Aetir's arms. The other elf looked up with a grin, drawing another dagger from his hip.

   "Oh!" It came out almost delighted. "You meant that you were a mage! Ah, well. Lucky for me that I planned ahead then, yes?" He advanced slowly, and Aetir felt a nervous twist of uncertainty in his gut. Any assassin with any sense would have fled by now. _Why...?_

   The Antivan elf laughed softly, spinning his daggers and smiling. "It should be taking effect any moment now. A slight burn, perhaps? Weariness? I hear that is how it feels."

   Aetir's ears twitched and he opened his mouth to answer before the magic died at his fingers. He sucked in a harsh breath, looking down at his hands and trying to summon it back, but nothing came.

   He looked up abruptly when he heard movement to find the Antivan stalking towards him with a smile, moving quickly and silently like a cat, his eyes glinting green in the dark. Aetir backed away as quickly as he dared without taking his eyes off him, gasping, "How?"

   "It is called Magebane, _mi dulce_." The Antivan's smile widened slightly as he moved, in no hurry but smoothly and silently, a predator hunting his prey. "An appropriate name, yes? It is made of lyrium dust, corrupted and concentrated until even the smallest dose will sap the mana and will from even the strongest mage. I brewed it specially for you." He chuckled. "Only the very best for the Hero of Ferelden."

   Aetir's knees hit the side of his bed and he fell onto it with a yelp; before he could move, the assassin darted over, pushing him onto his back and balancing on him, a knee on his chest and his daggers crossed over Aetir's throat. The mage went still, breathing hard and trying to think clearly despite the poison in his blood and his heart racing in his chest.

   "Magic or not, if I scream my Wardens will come running. They will find you." Aetir's eyes fixed on the Antivan's own and he did his very best to glare a hole through his skull. It only seemed to amuse him, though.

   "But you would still be dead, and I would be long gone before they made it to your room." His smile sent a shiver down Aetir's spine. "If they were here. However, your Wardens are absent. Most are away on an expedition into the Deep Roads, three left for Amaranthine this morning, and the last two are investigating a darkspawn sighting near, ah..." He cast his eyes upwards briefly, as if in thought. "Oh, yes! Harper's Ford. They won't be back for at least two weeks." He looked back down, ears pricking. "This, of course, does not count the ones stationed elsewhere in Ferelden, such as Soldier's Peak. Needless to say, they are no threat to me."

   Aetir swallowed, keenly aware of the blades pressing against his throat. _How could he know?_ The Antivan had known the perfect time to try and assassinate him; the Vigil was almost empty right now. Even if someone heard him, they wouldn't find his assassin.

   "Ah, but it is a sad task I must carry out." The assassin adjusted his weight, moving his knee off Aetir's chest and shifting so he was on the bed entirely, straddling Aetir's hips. Despite himself, Aetir felt his cheeks heat and he squirmed a little, uncomfortably, until the blades at his throat made him go still.

   "You are much prettier than I expected a Grey Warden to be." The Antivan eyes lingered over him and Aetir looked away, breathing hard and trying not to feel his gaze. "I thought you all grim warrior types. And to think, someone would pay to destroy such a work of art." He shifted one of his blades, pushing Aetir's head back, and withdrew the other. A moment later, Aetir felt the tip trail along one of the veins in his throat, so lightly it almost tickled, down to the dip in his collar bone.

   "And I thought assassins could _kill,_ rather than only _talk_ about it." Aetir felt a brief rush of nervous excitement at that, and realized that, _perhaps,_ goading the man who held him at knifepoint was not the best plan. The blade at his collar bone stopped.

   "Oh, _I can kill, mi dulce._ " The assassin's voice was just a whisper, dark and soft. Aetir felt his throat go dry and swallowed nervously, squirming a little. He went still when the assassin's thighs tightened around his hips, though. "Perhaps I will prove it to you?"

   Aetir's ears pricked at that. " _Perhaps?_ "

   The Antivan made an interested little sound in his throat, and Aetir felt the feather-soft touch of a dagger's point, trailing down his chest. "I confess, I have a weakness for beautiful things. I could, perhaps, be persuaded to spare one, if I thought it was too beautiful to destroy."

   Aetir took a breath, his mind racing. _What was that supposed to mean? Was he serious?_ "And how would you know if it was?"

   "Ah, that _is_ the question, hm?" The dagger trailed back up, and Aetir's ears flicked when he heard the soft rip of fabric tearing, a moment before the dagger's point came to rest against his skin.

   "How would I know except by looking, _bonito_?"

   Aetir flushed and squirmed a little, trying to look down, as the dagger lifted off his skin and slid downwards, neatly slicing his tunic open. It fell apart after a moment, and the night air felt cool against his newly-exposed skin; the dagger's tip touched his skin briefly when the Antivan flicked the remains of his tunic aside, baring even more of his torso. He made a pleased sound and Aetir felt himself flush.

   "Ah. There. See?" The blade at his jaw eased back and Aetir finally managed to look down; the Antivan was still straddling his hips, idly twirling his other dagger in a glittering arch as he studied Aetir, his expression one of admiration and awe. When his eyes met Aetir's, there was something else there too; something that made Aetir's mouth go dry and heart race.

   "Then are you satisfied?" He tried to keep his breathing even, but wasn't entirely certain he succeeded...especially when the Antivan's lips quirked into a knowing smile.

   "Satisfied, _dulce_? No. Not hardly." He cocked his head, his hand snapping closed around the dagger he was twirling, and in a heartbeat he had darted forward, leaning over Aetir so closely that their breath mingled. It took Aetir a second to realize the second dagger was now against his throat again, and it was all he could do to keep from squeaking in alarm, his eyes going wide.

   "Tell me something, my dear Warden. If I remove this blade--" He paused to shift the one at his jaw, scraping his skin lightly. "--will you try to flee?"

   Aetir exhaled harshly, resisting the urge to move back; he had nowhere to go, anyway. "Are you going to kill me regardless?"

   "Maybe." The assassin smiled briefly and leaned forward a little more, until their noses touched. "Maybe not. I can certainly kill you now, if you would prefer."

   Aetir let out a breath, casting his eyes up and weighing his options, as if he had a choice. "I won't try to run."

   "Excellent, _mi dulce._ " The Antivan sat back and withdrew his daggers. Aetir swallowed, hard, raising a hand to his throat. There was a small trickle of dried blood, but no other damage. His eyes went to the Antivan still straddling his hips, and he let out a harsh breath.

   "So now what?" His voice was a little clipped, but it didn't seem to offend the man on him, since he just chuckled softly. He tucked one of his daggers away, but kept the other as he looked down at Aetir. He had gone back to spinning it idly, not even looking at the razor-sharp blade twirling through the air next to his face.

   "Now, my Warden, I am going to see if you are truly beautiful enough to spare, _si_?" His fingers closed around the dagger's hilt and he brought it back down to Aetir's chest, lightly balancing the tip against his skin.

   Aetir swallowed, clutching at his bedcovers and keeping himself still. Now that he could look at it, the blade was darkly beautiful, made of black metal that didn't shine in the light; the only parts that reflected anything were the gold chasing on the hilt and the glittering edge. The assassin drew his dark blade down Aetir's chest like a caress, scraping against his skin just enough to hurt, barely, and leaving a red line behind; he made a thoughtful noise, delicately tracing the lines of muscle on Aetir's ribs and stomach, then turned the blade so the flat pressed against his skin. It was colder than it looked, and the sensation made Aetir suck in a soft breath, tensing.

   He swallowed, trying not to flush, and murmured, "That blade is...quite beautiful." He almost didn't want to admit it, _but..._

   The assassin's eyes glittered in amusement and he chuckled. "It is. It was a gift, from an even more beautiful man." He braced himself on the bed and leaned forward to add, "It has a name, my beautiful blade. Would you like to know it?"

   Aetir's eyes met his and he swallowed again, flicking his ears down. He didn't answer, but it didn't seem to matter if he did; the assassin leaned forward until his lips brushed Aetir's ear and he purred, his voice soft and dark as night, "Voice of Velvet."

   He sucked Aetir's earlobe into his mouth, closing his teeth around his earring briefly, then pulled back with a laugh when Aetir stiffened and gasped. The mage let out a heavy breath, trying to ignore the way that had sent a jolt straight to his groin and that he knew he was flushed now. _Dammit, **not** the time._

   He felt Voice of Velvet's flat brush back up his chest in a cold trail, making his skin tingle slightly. _Magic._ The Antivan turned it so the edge was against him again, and Aetir jerked and hissed slightly when it flicked against his nipple, glaring up at its owner.

   The assassin chuckled at that, shifting his hips a little, and Aetir sucked in a breath through his nose. He tried to squirm away as subtly as possible.

   The Antivan said nothing, just smiling and moving so his knee pressed down between Aetir's legs. Aetir's breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, the assassin had repositioned himself there, with Aetir's legs loose around his hips and his dagger at the mage's chest.

   Before he could move it, Aetir let out a breath, then asked, "Does its _owner_ have a name?"

   The assassin just smiled for a moment, drawing Voice of Velvet down Aetir's chest, his stomach. "He does. But not one you'll learn tonight, _dulce._ " The dagger's blade scraped against his skin, shaving off a small section of fine, dark hair from his lower stomach, then stopped at the top of Aetir's breeches. He sucked in a breath, staring at it silently and hoping the Antivan didn't intend to cut _those_ off too. His face burned at the thought, and he squirmed a little, trying to ignore the slight throbbing between his legs and the way the assassin's hips pressed against him.

   He seemed to have realized what Aetir was thinking, because when Aetir looked up he was smiling, darkly mischievous. "It would be a shame not to look at the whole piece," he murmured, his voice soft. Aetir swallowed hard, but didn't protest when the blade slid downwards, slicing through fabric.

   The Antivan's eyes remained on his own as he cut, as if he was daring Aetir to try and stop him. Aetir just glared back quietly, his face burning and his breathing hard. A moment later, his breath hitched when he felt the assassin's fingers as his hip, tugging the remains of his clothing off; his fingertips were light and quick, but also rough and warm, in sharp contrast to his cold blade, now resting at his stomach again.

   He finally broke eye contact to look down at his work and Aetir looked away with a harsh breath, squirming slightly and resisting the urge to pull away. The assassin made a pleased sound, and the dagger moved from Aetir's stomach to his thigh. He sucked in a little breath, squeezing his eyes shut when the blade moved upwards, scratching a burning line into his skin. Then it was gone, and Aetir couldn't quite stop himself from whimpering in protest.

   That seemed to amuse his tormentor, because he made a happy sound and shifted slightly, pressing his hips forward into Aetir, just a little. _Oh, gods._ Aetir swallowed hard, trying not to focus on it, or how he _ached_.

   He felt the dagger's tip come back down on his stomach again, lower now. It drifted lower still, and Aetir squeaked and went still when the assassin drew his blade up along the head of his erection.

   Aetir's eyes had snapped to the blade, but he didn't dare squirm in protest, and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to. His breath caught when the Antivan drew a little circle against him, then brought the cold tip down in a feather-light caress down the center of his erection. He finally couldn't ignore it any longer and shifted his hips a little, whimpering softly, before the assassin's hand went to his hip to hold him. His look was enough to make Aetir go still, swallowing hard.

   He _whined_ quietly in his throat when the blade's flat slid up the side, though, cold and dangerous, and dropped his head back onto the bed. He let out a harsh breath, trying to shift his hips again, just to feel his tormentor's hand tighten warningly.

   " _Please_ ," he whispered finally, his voice tight and barely more than a whisper.

   The Antivan laughed softly in response. "Ah. I thought it might take more to make a fabled Commander of the Grey beg." Aetir's head snapped back up, but the assassin moved before he could answer; in an instant, his blade was back at Aetir's throat as he leaned over him, his hips pressing firmly into Aetir's own. He was hard, and not in the least bit shy about letting Aetir know it, judging by the way his hips rocked into Aetir and his wicked smile; the mage knew he was flushing, but gods, he just didn't _care_. He just _wanted._

   "Shh, no protests. You were easy, _mi dulce,_ and you know it." He let out a breath, pushing his dagger into Aetir's throat. "Say it again."

   Aetir gasped, then let out a harsh breath. " _Please!_ " The Antivan made a quiet sound in his throat, a little half-moan, and Aetir whimpered softly. He swallowed against the blade at his throat, finally daring to shift his hips a little. The assassin pressed back, his free hand going to Aetir's hip as he sat back a little; a moment later, it moved, his fingertips brushing up the length of Aetir's erection, and the mage whined in protest.

   "Again." It came out quiet and dark, the assassin's own breathing hard. "If you're going to _act_ like a whore, then the least you can do is _beg_ like one."

   Aetir whimpered softly at that, biting his lip briefly before letting out a harsh breath. " _Please,_ " he hissed finally, his voice shaking, "just... _just_..."

   The Antivan's hand closed around him and Aetir moaned, rolling his hips upwards. " _Say it,_ commander," the assassin hissed, rocking his hips into him. "You know what you want."

   " ** _Fuck me!_** " Aetir arched his back, panting and pushing his hips into the Antivan's as his dagger scraped against his throat.

   The assassin's hand moved and Aetir whimpered shrilly in protest before his fingers touched his lower lip; Aetir sucked them into his mouth without hesitation, swirling his tongue against the assassin's fingertips. He tasted like salt and sweat and leather oil, and Aetir moaned softly around his fingers, closing his eyes. The assassin's breath hitched and his hips bucked a little, the blade faltering at Aetir's throat for an instant.

   He withdrew his fingers after a moment, leaving Aetir panting. The blade was gone a moment later as well, and Aetir looked down in time to see the assassin pull his leg over his shoulder, raising his hips; the Antivan turned his head slightly to press a kiss to the side of Aetir's knee, pushing a finger into him.

   Aetir whimpered, biting his lip and looking away, squeezing his eyes closed. The Antivan let out a harsh breath against his skin, then said, his voice soft and firm, "No. _Look at me_."

   When Aetir didn't immediately obey, his teeth sank into the mage's thigh; he looked up with a little yelp, then hissed softly when the assassin pressed a second finger into him. This time, though, he forced himself to hold eye contact, and was rewarded when the assassin's fingers hooked and thrust into him, seeking what they both wanted.

   Aetir went tense and made a shrill little sound in his throat when the assassin found it, closing his eyes briefly and moaning, "oh, _gods_..." in relief. His hips rolled forward and he bit his lip again in an attempt to stifle the little moans and whimpers he couldn't hold back.

   The assassin made a little sound like a growl, letting out a harsh breath. "Still so shy, _mi dulce_? So shy, and so eager." He pulled back some and Aetir whined in protest, looking up. Fabric rustled as the assassin undid something in his clothing, and before Aetir could figure out what he was doing, his hips rolled forward and he was in him.

   The mage sucked in a harsh breath, then let it out in a low moan, arching his back and pushing his hips forward. "Oh, _Creators_ ," he heard himself hiss distantly, "you feel so _good_." The assassin laughed softly, then answered breathlessly:

   "As do you, _dulce_."

   He punctuated the statement with a thrust of his hips that sent a shock of pleasure through Aetir and made him jerk, gasping. He didn't realize he'd brought his hand to his mouth until his teeth sank into the back of it, but then it was tugged away and pinned to the bed, the assassin's fingers intertwined with his.

   " _No_ ," he panted, his eyes fierce, "I want to hear you."

   The demand alone made Aetir melt, and when he thrust into him again, any thought of protest was forgotten. He whimpered shrilly, then, his reservations forgotten, moaned, "Oh, ** _gods_**."

   The Antivan growled something in response, angling his hips, and Aetir _screamed_. He was already so _close, too close, and if he would just keep doing **that** \--_

   "Oh gods, _oh gods, oh **gods** , Zevran, **please** \--_" The name was out before Aetir could catch himself, and for an instant his eyes snapped open in horror as he realized what he'd done. But Zevran just laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw, and whispered to him:

   "Come for me, _amor_."

   And then it didn't matter, because they were just Zevran and Aetir now, and Aetir's fingers tangled into Zevran's hair, tugging his head up so he could lean up to kiss him, his tongue thrusting into the other elf's mouth as Zevran's hips slammed into him. Zevran moaned into his mouth, digging his fingers into Aetir's thigh, and the mage finally pulled back with a gasp, panting, " _Creators, Zev, **please** \--!_"

   He didn't finish the plea before he came with a wordless cry, his body clenching and electricity, held back for so long, sparking from his fingertips. Zevran sank his teeth into Aetir's shoulder with a moan, and after a few more thrusts Aetir felt him jerk inside him, his hips snapping against him.

   Neither of them said anything for a bit, panting and clinging to each other. Aetir recovered first, though, running his fingers through Zevran's hair in apology. Zevran let go of his shoulder with a gasp, tilting his head into Aetir's hands with a murmured purr of a sound. He sighed softly, resting his head against the mage's chest.

   "That went well, I think," he said finally, his voice soft and steady. Aetir laughed in response.

   "Hm. Yeah." He let out a breath. "Can't do it too much, though. My wardrobe would never recover. I only have so many outfits you can ruin."

   Zevran clicked his tongue, flicking the ruined remains of Aetir's tunic. "If you wore less clothing, I wouldn't have to cut it off you."

   "If I wore less clothing, it wouldn't be realistic," Aetir retorted with a grin. He sighed softly, hugging Zevran briefly. His fingers brushed over his back, following the weave of the fabric that still covered it. "Speaking of clothing...if you don't get out of yours, _I_ may have to cut it off."

   Zevran laughed, sitting up and looking at him with a pout. "You are cruel, _amor_ ," he answered before leaning forward to kiss him softly.

   Aetir just hummed pleasantly when he pulled back, sliding out of him. The mage shifted to nuzzle his hip when he stood and began removing daggers.

   "Did you really have to wear _all_ of your daggers for this?" He asked finally when Zevran had placed them all neatly on the bed and started undressing. The other elf paused for a moment to look at him incredulously, then tipped his chin up.

   "It wouldn't have been _realistic_ if I hadn't, _amor,_ " he answered with smirk. Aetir huffed, swatting his hip, and made sure to put some electricity into the blow; Zevran just laughed in response.

   He finished undressing and moved his daggers to the nightstand before joining Aetir on his bed again. The mage sighed softly, snuggling up against him and brushing his hand over his side, pleased that there was nothing between their skin now. A thought occurred to him and he looked up.

   " _Mi dulce?_ "

   "Mm." Zevran pressed a kiss to his forehead. "My sweet."

   "Ah." Aetir didn't say anything else, just brushing his fingers over Zevran's side and listening to him breathe. After a few moments, though, Zevran's lips brushed his forehead again.

   "How busy are you tomorrow, _amor_?"

   Aetir's ears flicked at the question. "Well, you already know most of my Wardens are gone, so...not very. Why?" Even as he asked it, though, he suspected he knew the answer, and the corner of his mouth quirked into an anticipatory smile.

   "Ah, I see." Zevran pushed him back, then, smiling, answered, "Excellent, _mi dulce_..."


End file.
